


Deep in the North

by Downwardarrow



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-18 09:05:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12385110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Downwardarrow/pseuds/Downwardarrow
Summary: Set after season 6, Jon is the King in the North riddled with guilt over every one of his life choices. He feels he failed his family, he feels he failed the free folk and so he goes back beyond the wall to save some more. On the way his friendship with Tormund Giantsbane becomes something more and beyond the Wall more surprises lie in wait.





	1. Choices of a King

  The fire danced and flickered in hearth casting a warm orange glow onto the cold, grey stone of the chamber wall. The flames crackled and spat, the logs that fuelled them slowly but surely blackening and crumbling away to ash. Forever fire had been special to him, it was something that no one could really understand as it wasn't like anything else in the world and yet he still couldn't see that the flames were the way a god messaged his priests and priestesses.

  Still, Jon Snow stood there, leaning one arm against the wall and letting the warmth from the flames wash over him. Behind him Longclaw lay on his desk, his cloak flung over  the chair. Ghost lay asleep beside his bed, the one that Robb used to sleep in as Sansa slept in their father's old room.

  The bastard still felt uncomfortable as the King in the North, as the White Wolf. It was the reason that he did not sleep in the lord's chamber, a small escape from his new position. As the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch he had been in command of just over one hundred men, now he was responsible for the entire North. The only reason that he had fought in the Battle of the Bastards was to save Rickon, it wasn't even really to get Winterfell back from the Boltons. He had never intended to rule the North, Sansa would have been far better at it.

  Staring into the flames, Jon couldn't help but be consumed by guilt over so many of his life choices. If he hadn't have left for the Wall, to take the black, to look for glory, then maybe things would have been different. Maybe his father, Robb, Rickon and Lady Stark would be alive. Maybe Arya and Bran would be there with them at Winterfell, at home, instead of being lost somewhere in the world, perhaps Sansa would never have been passed from monster to monster suffering more than anyone should ever. 

  At the same time, if he had never left for the Wall then he would never have found out about the white walkers or how to kill them. He would never have learnt that to fight and survive that he could, and sometimes should, fight in a way that is sometimes not seen as honourable. He had learnt so much there, had been changed as a person, grown from a boy to a man. While he had been a man of the Night's Watch, he had gained a whole new family, had lost many other brothers. Now he had left them too. He'd run away because a group of them had killed him, a group who's leaders he had killed and who would be too scared to try anything again. Yet coming back had still left him feeling empty, he wasn't scared, he just felt empty and wrong like something inside of him had been irreversibly changed, that was why he had left. Now he just felt like a coward.

  The King on the North sighed and moved away from the fire. He went over and sat down heavily on the bed, his feet just inches from Ghost's head. The dire wolf opened his red eyes and lifted his white furred head to look at Jon. The man lent down and smoothed the fur between his friend's ears. Ghost stood up then and jumped easily onto the bed beside him, laying down and resting his great head in Jon's lap.

 Just at that moment, as the king buried his hand in the soft fur of Ghost's neck, there was a knock on the door.

  "Come in," Jon invited.  

   The door opened to reveal Sansa standing there, the light from a torch in the hall made her red hair seem to glow like it itself was flames. She stepped through the threshold and pulled the wolf fur lined cloak further around her shoulders. She looked almost unsure as she close the heavy door behind her and took a couple of steps towards where he was sat. Having been around her for the last couple of weeks he had seen that the past few years had turned his sister into a very strong woman and so seeing her biting her lip and looking uncomfortable threw him.

  " Jon," she greeted.

  " What brings you here it's such a late hour Sansa?" Jon asked without standing, unwilling to disturb Ghost, knowing that it being Sansa that she wouldn't mind.

  The king took a moment to look over his sister, wondering what in seven hells could have brought her to his chamber let alone so late. It was still strange to him that the two of them were on speaking terms, Sansa always having the same kind of attitude towards him as her mother when they were children.

  "I just wanted to talk to you... about the white walkers. It's just that you seem completely obsessed, you seem distracted and as king you can't be," Sansa said.

  "Sansa-" Jon started, knowing now that she had been uncomfortable for this reason. 

  "Jon, please listen-" Sansa cut across him.

  "No Sansa, you haven't seen the white walkers, if you had then you would be just as worried about them as I am," Jon told her without letting her finish. He gestured to the chair beside his desk and she took it, sitting with all the delicacy of the lady she had been raised to be. 

  "Then we need to think of how we can stop them. And I know that that is not the only reason why you are this way either. I want to know what else is on your mind, is it because you died? Is it because you left the Night's Watch?" his sister asked.

  Jon looked over to her, brow furrowed. He hadn't realised that she had been watching so closely, the truth being that she was spot on. The fact that he had run from the Night's Watch, the fact that it was over the actions of only  a few.

  "I abandoned them in a time when they needed as much help as they could get and I was their Lord Commander," Jon confessed, bowing his head somewhat and clenching his hand around Ghost's fur.

  "But now you're King in the North, there are thousands more people relying on you now," Sansa said.

  Jon looked up, studying her face for a long while then. The man stood, pushing Ghost gently away before making his way back to the fire, simply staring back into the writhing heat. Thousands had relied on him at Hardhome too, he had let them down and now he wasn't even going to return to the lands beyond the Wall to try and save the lives of any other free folk. Unless he could...

  Once more, he turned to his sister.

  " I want to go back beyond the Wall to search for more wildlings," he told her.

  "But you can't!" she exclaimed, brow furrowed and hands clasped tightly in her lap.

  "Why, because I'm King? You're more than capable of looking after things while I'm not here, you're the only Stark in Winterfell, it's your birthright anyhow," Jon returned.

  The very instant that he offered her the rule she seemed placated, sitting back and taking her turn at studying his features.

  "I can take Tormund with me, he'll know where all the free folk settlements are but I don't want to take anyone else, we can move faster with fewer," Jon planned out.

  "Okay, send your wildling friend but why do you have to go?" Sansa asked, the fight returning to her eyes and she stood and took a step towards him.

  "Because the only reason that the free folk at Hardhome followed me was because they had heard of what I had done, it has to be me."

  There was a long moment of silence. The two stood without a word, the crackle of the fire in the hearth and the whistle of the wind outside where the only sounds to be heard. After a long while Sansa nodded, her eyes still flitting across his face as if desperately trying to work out what was going through his head.


	2. Guilty Secret

    It was early morning when Tormund and Jon mounted their horses in the courtyard. It had stopped snowing some time in the night but there was still a thick layer of the stuff over everything, clinging to the land around them as well as their clothes and hair. The saddle bags on the horses were packed with enough food to see them through their journey to Castle Black and Long Claw hung heavy at Jon's side.

  Sansa stood beside the horses, having given Jon a brief hug and whispered "good luck" before the King mounted. Once astride the horse, Jon looked down at his sister, offering her a reassuring smile even though he himself was unsure now if this was the right decision. 

  To his right, he felt the eyes of Tormund boring into the back of his head, a sensation that he had been feeling more and more lately but decided to ignore  in that moment. Instead he pulled his cloak a touch further around his shoulders before taking up the reins, giving his sister a polite nod of farewell before kicking his steed on. The sound of the horses' hooves echoed off of the cobbles and Ghost's paws moved soundlessly as the two men trotted off, the few people that were around throwing curious looks to their King as they passed. 

  Soon the pair left the stone towers and walls of Winterfell far behind, instead travelling through open country, making their way further and further into the North. They passed few settlements and fewer people. Many of the homes that they passed were abandoned now that winter had come, no smoke rose from chimneys and paddocks held no livestock.

  For the most part they travelled in silence with a few sarky or sex related remarks from Tormund that Jon generally ignored. He had to admit to himself that he was enjoying the other's company, not having travelled with him properly since his stint as a wildling. The fact that Tormund was one of a few men that Jon found the same interest in as he did with women didn't really help to make him feel comfortable though. Neither did the long, intense stares that Tormund would often throw his way. Stares which Jon generally ignored.

  They made camp in silence just as they had ridden, building a campfire inside the husk of an abandoned, half-rotted house. Jon sat down against a pile of rubble, food in hand and Ghost lying about a foot away. It was just as they had settled that Tormund started conversation.

  "I've got a question for you Jon Snow," Tormund said, it was sly, a smile making that red beard of his twitch as his brown eyes twinkled.

  "Oh," Jon remarked, pretending to be unconcerned as he bit off another chink of dried meat even though that look meant trouble.

 "Do you like men?" the wildling asked.

  "How do you mean?" Jon asked slowly, feeling his face heat up and hoping that the poor light hid the flush from the other.

  "As in, would you fuck another man? Cause with a face like yours it ain't gonna be only women queuing up for a piece of that ass," Tormund practically purred, leaning forward and watching Jon closely.

  "Um, not- not really... no," Jon stammered.  

  "So that's a yes. Who did you sleep with?" Tormund asked gleefully.

  "I... um, well... the stable boy," Jon finally got out, knowing with one hundred percent certainty that his face was glowing with embarrassment.

  Tormund's gaze seemed to bore into the centre of his being, it was gleeful and lustful. The wildling stood, slowly and surely without taking his eyes off of Jon. The light from the fire danced off of the creases in the man's furs and made the red of his hair even brighter. The King couldn't take his eyes off of the other, pushing himself up from the floor so that he was at least a little closer to Tormund's height. 

  "Who gave and who took?" Tormund asked Jon as he stopped an arms length from the King.

  "What does it matter?" Jon returned somewhat nervously, forcing himself not to take a step backwards.

  "It matters because I want a piece of your ass but I only ever give Jon Snow," the wildling growled.

  "Um, well... I-" Jon started before he was cut off by Tormund's mouth crashing against his own.

  Jon relaxed into the kiss after only the briefest second, parting his lip as the bigger man's tongue pried. The King gathered all of his self control and refrained from moaning even as Tormund pressed further into him and Jon felt a distinct hardness press against his leg. The wildling's hand crept up from where it had been on his hip to stroke across his jaw before fisting into his hair. 

  Jon found himself being pushed backwards, eventually hitting his back against the cold wooden wall. The King pulled back from the rough kiss, catching his breath as he felt his arousal causing his heart to beat irregularly. Tormund's gaze was hotter than the fire behind them as he looked down at the dark haired man, the hand in Jon's hair pulling his head back to expose the King's neck. A predatory smile spread across the wildling's face as he looked over the Winterfell bastard before he leaned down and ran a thick, hot tongue up Jon's neck and over his jaw.

  Yet again Jon had to swallow a moan as the other man once again leaned back slightly to take a look at him. He wouldn't give the other the satisfaction of knowing just how turned on he was... not yet. It was this defiance that seemed to egg the ginger on, the larger man starting to grind against Jon's thigh as he began to kiss his way down the King's neck from behind his ear.

  "Take you clothes off for me pretty bastard, I know you want this," Tormund whispered in his ear, grabbing Jon's now fully erect cock as if to prove his point.

  Tormund pulled away from Jon, head cocked and watching him as Jon took a deep breath and started to remove his clothing. First his cloak fell to the floor and soon his jerkin and under shirt joined leaving his chest bare.

  "You really are beautiful," the wildling growled, gesturing for Jon to stop and leave his breeches on.

  He moved forward, his giant paw-hands moving down from Jon's shoulders down over his chest and over his abdomen, fingers tracing all of the muscles. As he made his way back up he traced the lines of each of the scars made by the knives that had killed him. The bastard flinched slightly at each touch, grimacing at the reminder of the scars but not wanting to pull away from the oversized hands.

  Tormund looked up at him once more, just before he got to the scar above Jon's heart. The King felt that heart pound nervously just as the wildling pressed a kiss to the scar, feeling the man's tongue taste the skin beneath it. Jon shuddered beneath the touch, not even feeling slightly aroused as the mouth began to suck a bruise into the skin around the scar.

  After he'd finished marking Jon, Tormund pushed himself away, looking down at the other his expression taking on a concerned touch after one look at Jon's own face. Despite that, he didn't say a word, instead removing the furs that hung from his frame piece by piece until he stood completely bare before the King.

  "Bet your stable boy didn't have a pecker this big did he?" the red head leered with a lude thrust  of the hips.

  Jon looked down at the member before him and could shake his head silently knowing that the boy he used roll around with was no where near the size. The King could say that the cock standing hard and proud between the other's legs was definitely in proportion to the rest of him. Even as he looked, Tormund reached down and undid Jon's breeches. The bastard quickly helped, pulling off his boots and breeches. Whatever arousal he had lost as Tormund gave his scars attention had returned full force at seeing Tormund fully.

  "Beautiful," Tormund growled again, moving forward to once more tangle his fingers into Jon's hair. 

  The King found himself being pushed to his knees, something that he didn't protest as he guiltily found himself needing to taste the huge dick before him. Tormund chuckled as he saw Jon's anticipation, using the hand in Jon's hair to press the King's face into the course ginger hair at his groin. The bastard didn't wait, licking a line up the wildling's balls before reaching up and gripping the base of the great cock in one hand. 

  Above him Tormund moaned, his hand tightening in Jon's hair, finally Jon allowed himself his own little groan of pleasure, a sound which caused a smile as large as the cock in the King's hand to spread over the wildling's face. Jon licked a thick line from his hand to the head of the wildling's cock, tasting the salt and something else that had no description other than  _Tormund,_ it was good making both men groan with pleasure as Jon took the head into his mouth.

  "You're good at this. Who would have thought that the King in the North would be such a good cocksucker," the wildling moaned as he pushed Jon further down onto his dick.

  To the bastard's eternal shame he had always loved taking the stable boy, Aaron, into his mouth and tasting the flesh. The fact that it was sinful made it all the sweeter. It was no different with Tormund, better even because he had wanted the man for so long and because there was so much more of him. Even as he bobbed his head down and felt the tip of the cock hit the back of his throat, there was exposed flesh between his lips and hand. He could feel the flesh twitch under his ministrations as he licked and sucked.

  "You are very good Jon Snow, you and that stable boy must have been at it all the time," Tormund growled, pulling Jon away from his dick by the hair, "but I don't want to finish in that pretty mouth of yours, at least not this time."

  The dark haired man shuddered at the promise of another encounter, leaning back on the balls of his feet as the grip in the his hair allowed. The cold air bit at Jon's bare skin, the King made aware after the loss of the other's heat. Tormund let go of Jon's hair and instead stroked the King's stubbled jaw, pulling him up so that he stood, still having to look up at the much taller wildling.

  Tormund reached down and roughly grabbed Jon's own cock, not small by any means but still smaller than the monster between Tormund's legs. The King groaned as the wildling tugged on his manhood, biting back a whimper as he let go, turning Jon away from him and pushing him back against the wall. Tormund ran his calloused hands up Jon's side and over his rear, up his sides until one rested over his throat and another hovered over the King's lips.

  Jon's hands were splayed against the wall, his knees weak with anticipation as Tormund used his foot to push the bastard's legs further apart. The finger's at Jon's lips pressed down and "suck" was growled in his ear so he took them into his mouth, sucking strongly on the two large digits. Once more Jon's ministrations pulled a moan from his lover, the wildling kissing and biting at the skin at the base of his neck. 

  "Enough," Tormund whispered hoarsely.  

  The ginger pulled his fingers from Jon's mouth with a wet pop, grinding his hardness against the King's crack. The fingers that had not long before been in Jon's mouth were then moved to his entrance, circling once before the first entered him. The King groaned and arched back, it had been a long time since he had been with a man, since he had been filled.

  Tormund didn't waste anytime, adding a second finger and stretching him before adding a third. The man stretched Jon as the King bit down on his arm to stop the noises that wanted to escape his mouth. When the wildling saw that Jon was ready, he pulled the fingers out and rubbed them down Jon's side, he lined himself up and slowly pushed in until he bottomed out. 

  Jon gasped against his arm as he felt the stretch, the cock being thicker than all three of Tormund's fingers. He felt the hot breath of the other against his ear as Tormund pressed against him, not moving. The man bit at Jon's ear and neck but it all made Jon squirm as he just wanted the other to move.

  Just as it was getting too much, Tormund used a hand on Jon's chin to pull the King's head up, away from his arm and back towards the bare shoulder of the wildling. 

  "I want to hear every noise you make, " the man breathed in Jon's ear just as he started to move.

  At first it was slow, but Tormund soon quickened his pace, already brought close to completion by Jon's mouth. Just as the wildling wished, with his head thrown back against Tormund's shoulder, the King let all of his moans and groans be heard as the giant cock inside him hit that sweet spot again and again.

  "Are you ready to come Jon Snow," Tormund growled in Jon's ear, his lips and breath searing hot against the King's skin.

  In response Jon let out a more than slightly embarrassing whimper, nodding his head against the other's shoulder. Tormund thrust into him again, roughly pushing in all the way and hitting Jon's sweet spot, wrenching a yelp of pleasure from his lips.

  "Go on then," Tormund panted in his ear still thrusting in and out as he reached around and took Jon's cock in his hands.

  It only took the other to pull on his dick a few times before it twitched and Jon was painting the wall. His knees felt weak but he held himself in place as Tormund chased his own release, following soon after Jon, burring himself fully in the King's ass and releasing his seed.

  The wildling pulled away and Jon turned around, both breathing heavily and still riding their high. The bastard looked over the wildling not quite believing what had just happened but still thanking the gods that it had happened. Tormund smirked at him, his big paw hand wrapping itself around Jon's waist and pulling him forward for another kiss.

  "Was that good enough for a second round?" Tormund asked as he pressed his sweaty forehead against Jon's own.

  "Yes," the King managed, "definitely."


	3. Chapter 3

The two of them rose the next morning without saying a thing. After what had happened the night before Jon could still taste him, still feel the stretch in his ass as he moved. As much as he would have liked to at least straighten out what the hell the whole thing had meant, he couldn't find it in himself to actually look Tormund in the eye as they started to roll up their sleeping mats.

Jon was pulling on and fastening his cloak when Tormund came over to him. The wildling didn't say a thing just looked at him before leaning in and pressing his lips to Jon's stubbled cheek. The King in the North tensed for the briefest moment before he relaxed into the touch, to the lips and the hand that was on his hip. Before he knew it though, Tormund was moving away, leaving only the ghosts of the touch lingering on his skin. He ducked his head quickly, picking up his stuff and leaving the old abandoned house.

The first hour or so of their ride passed in silence, even Tormund didn't talk or make any lude jokes. Jon didn't know what to make of that, the other man wouldn't be abashed at having had sex with anyone. After a while though, Jon asked how Tormund liked Winterfell. How he liked the south side of the Wall on a whole. The wildling laughed and replied that there were some interesting people in this part of Westeros. From there they just kept talking, about how each of them grew up, how they saw the North and the "real" North as Tormund put it.

Time passed as their horses trudged through the snow and the temperature slowly dropped but never once did either of them mention the white walkers or the task that they had set off to do. The truth of it was that with each step, Jon felt his fear of what had to be done increase. He found himself dreading the thought of going back beyond the Wall to where the Night King and his army of the dead roamed. He fell into a brooding silence as the day passed its peak, pressing his horse into a trot just in front of Tormund so that they didn't have to talk any more. He watched Ghost lope through the 

As the pale sun began to set in the west and the white snow was washed in weak pinks and golds, Jon's unease just grew. All day he had avoided thinking about how this night might possibly go down. Like the day before, they never really passed anything except abandoned houses and farms with only the occasional inhabited building. It meant that he and Tormund would most probably be sleeping in another abandoned building, he had no idea how things would be. They couldn't go back to the way they were before, or at least Jon knew he couldn't.

So it was slowly and silently that he untied his bedroll from his saddle and took it and his wineskin inside of the old house that they had chosen for the night. He was grateful in a way that the population of the North moved into areas like the winter town outside of Winterfell as the cold grew so that travellers like they could have free residency. He knew that it wouldn't be long now that as they travelled further that the houses would become fewer and fewer. It would only be a day or two until they were sleeping under the open sky and Jon planned to take advantage of any roof he could while they were available. It didn't make the awkwardness from eating him up from the insides.

Once more it was as he was settling down to eat that Tormund approached him. This time the wildling strode up to him from behind, kneeling down and wrapping a strong arm around the king's waist. Jon tensed slightly as the other's breath ghosted against the back of his neck. Thick, callused fingers brushed the long, dark hair from Jon's neck before lips were brushed gently over the now exposed skin.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," Tormund breathed.

In that moment, Jon made up his mind as to what he wanted. Without a second thought, he reached up and wound his fingers into the tangled ginger hair of the other man, gently pushing Tormund's mouth closer to his neck. The movement brought a chuckle from the wildling as he began to kiss up Jon's neck and over then over his struggled jaw. This time Jon didn't bother to hide his little moans or how much he was loving the embrace in which his friend held him with his back pressed against Jon's shoulder blades and his arm wrapped around Jon's waist. 

Tormund soon made his way around until he was in front of Jon, kissing him full on the mouth and pushing him to the floor. Jon let himself be led, much like the night before, not minding the fact that for once he didn't have to make all of the decisions. This time, Tormund made love to him, it was gentle and careful and they kissed the whole while, their hands skating over each other continuously. Tormund's breath was hot on Jon's neck as he picked up the pace, chasing his finish while the king writhed and panted beneath him.

When they had finished, Tormund rolled off of Jon to lie beside him completely naked. Jon lazily looked over at the other, taking in the vast expanse of muscle and realising that he didn't regret his decision in the slightest. He expected Tormund to roll away, to get dressed and go to sleep like he had the night before. When he did get up though, it was to grab a fur before he returned to where Jon had just sat up. Jon shivered slightly as the bitterly cold winter air bit at his bare flesh but didn't say anything as he looked up at Tormund.

The king tried to keep the surprise off of his face as the wildling knelt next to him and pressed a chaste kiss to his mouth. He wrapped an arm around Jon, lying back and pulling the shorter man back down with him until they lay, Jon's back pressed to Tormund's chest before the wildling pulled the fur over them. Jon sighed and leant back into the warmth of the other man. Using his arm as a pillow, the king slept that way with the comforting rise and fall of the other's chest at his back, the beat of Tormund's heart reverberating through him.


End file.
